Beauty in the eyes of the Beholder
by chris pwure
Summary: Kamui and Fuuma have a discussion on how different they views are from each other.


Disclaimer: X not mine.  
  
A/N: Review. Probably a one shot thing. And no, I don't need professional help though I might by the time I finish writing this. This is in no way synonym to my personality.  
  
"Speak."  
  
"Scream."  
  
"Struggle."  
  
The boy was thrust near the wall. His eyes did not burn with the intensity and fervor it used to. There was no pity either, there was nothing. His eyes were lifeless, almost like a puppet that moved only by strings that pulled it. The stare was meaningless and creepy. Fuuma was puzzled.  
  
Releasing Kamui in a heap on the floor, he regarded the sad state of what used to be a formidable opponent.  
  
"Why?" The question was something and yet nothing at the same time.  
  
There was no response. Kamui just stared at the wall like it contained the meaning of life.  
  
"ANSWER ME." The question turned into a statement and a shout that demanded an answer.  
  
"You're no longer fun." Fuuma gave a mock pout, but was inwardly cursing the boy for putting him into such a state.  
  
"Fun? You called what happened just now fun?" Kamui at last seemed resigned to the fact that he had to answer. His voice reflected a soldier tired from the horrors of war and one who had no more desire to fight.  
  
"Then what would you call it?"  
  
"Perverse, sick, and a common occurrence."  
  
There was a pause. For once, Fuuma had no answer.  
  
"Is that really what you think? Well, you're wrong. If you'll spare a minute, I'll explain it to you."  
  
"Whatever, it's not as if I have anything better to do." Kamui struggled into a sitting position and with a sudden gesture, pointed to the space beside him. Hiding surprise, Fuuma sat down.  
  
"The cuts, the bruises, the blood, the fights, the playing.. do you really believe that they are of no purpose and are solely for my entertainment? They serve to show me, dear Kamui, of your weaknesses, of which so many you possess. I taunt you because I can. I hurt you because you are too weak inside to fight back. And in the end, on the promise day, the one who will win will ultimately be me."  
  
"You speak as if everything you say makes sense." Kamui could not be bothered. He was tired of the ongoing war, and sick of the struggle he was thrust into without anyone asking him if that was what he really wanted.  
  
"The future is yet to be determined on this issue. I just want to make sure I win."  
  
"Not everything is about winning." Kamui knew that the person he spoke to was no longer his friend, for his true childhood friend would not utter those words, winning had never been of much importance to Fuuma. To Fuuma, family, friends, love and compassion had ruled his heart. But no matter how he looked at it, the man who tormented him WAS still his friend, and that was what hurt the most.  
  
"You're right. Not everything is about winning. There are other things, like losing." The smirk was back, Fuuma was back in control.  
  
The conversation seemed hopeless and Kamui longed to ignore everything and just run away. Still, something in him made him hold on longer than he intended to.  
  
"Kamui, can't you feel the power you have hidden within you? Find that power and you'll find me less of an obstacle. Every time I hurt you, I taste your blood and your tears. Your blood contains a power you have yet to discover and the taste of it is elixir."  
  
"I don't even know why I bother to listen to you." Kamui shot him a disgusted look and jumped to his feet. Before he could make a dash for it, Fuuma grabbed his arm. With a sudden motion, Fuuma had slashed both his and Kamui's arm.  
  
A shout of pain rang out. The cut deepened. The dark blood that seeped through the cut seemed to take on a life of its own as it glimmered in the light of the night.  
  
"Blood is life. There is nothing sick about it, Kamui. Look at your blood, how it mingles with mine. The intensity of the colour as it gathers strength. Isn't it beautiful?" Fuuma's voice was hypnotic and Kamui was forced to look at the blood that was slowly making a trail down his arm, and dripping slowly down his fingertips.  
  
"No." Kamui forced out the single syllable, his voice croaking from the pain of the cut and the tight grip of Fuuma's hand on his.  
  
His hand was lifted, the blood threatening to fall into the ground as the drops gathered at the tips of his nails. Fuuma slid his mouth and gently sucked the blood. The rapture on his face could not be described, and the horror Kamui felt could not be silenced.  
  
"How can you not enjoy the beauty of blood, a synonym for life? If you cannot even do that, you don't even deserve to live."  
  
"Who are you to talk about living? I haven't been living since you came to be."  
  
Fuuma raised his hand to the sky, and then a sparrow fluttered innocently onto his fingertips. Kamui watched as Fuuma gently stroked the bird, all the while fearing for its safety.  
  
"I appreciate life more than you ever know. Because I can take it away so easily, don't you think that I would treasure it all the more? I don't want you to die, or any of the Seals. But anyone who stands in the way WILL have to perish." He flicked his hand, and the sparrow flew away.  
  
"How ironical." Kamui, no matter from which perspective he chose to look from, was determined to save his friend and bring him away from the terror of everything.  
  
"Your deepest nightmare, the scary things that lurk in the dark. I am that picture. When you lie awake at night wondering what bad things are out there, I am the worst. Your life is mine to take away, and there is no escape, not even when it is light outside." Fuuma tilted his head slightly to the side and without warning, vanished into the night. It was evident that he had grown bored of the talking.  
  
If anyone else had said it, Kamui would have found it funny and laughed. Fuuma was different. He had the power to make it come true. He had been Kamui's best friend. They had shared weal and woe and yet fate had chosen to bring an end to the special friendship. Crumpled on the floor, Kamui was a picture of despair, his soul torn, his heart shattered.  
  
Fuuma watched from his hiding place, a smile of sadness flitting across his face. "I never told you," he whispered, "how even though you never acknowledged your powers, you were still my strongest adversary. The promise day will be fun, and is anyone's guess as to who will win." 


End file.
